


Degrees of Separation

by PFDiva



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PFDiva/pseuds/PFDiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I <a href="http://imagineyuorotp.tumblr.com/post/43982919041/imagine-your-otp-meeting-each-other-for-the-first">imagined my OTP</a> meeting for the first time, at night, in the woods, while both trying to dispose of their freshly killed corpses.  It was quite rewarding.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Degrees of Separation

**Author's Note:**

> I [imagined my OTP](http://imagineyuorotp.tumblr.com/post/43982919041/imagine-your-otp-meeting-each-other-for-the-first) meeting for the first time, at night, in the woods, while both trying to dispose of their freshly killed corpses. It was quite rewarding.

You don't take off the head of the human with the blond afro with the swing of your shovel because you aren't accustomed to wielding weaponry, and he clearly is.  The clang from the shovels hitting each other rings throughout the trees, and you cast a furtive glance around to make sure noone has noticed, noone is coming.

Your attention is drawn back to the human when he uses his shovel to twist yours out of your hand, smoothly catching it by the spade end and holding both shovels at his side.

"You will give that back immediately," you hiss in alarm.

"No."

His voice is strident, clear, and loud in the silence.  You frantically hush him.

"Someone will hear!"

He scoffs out his amusement, "You're new at this, aren't you?"

"I am not doing anything wrong and you will give that shovel back immediately."

He bursts into startled laughter, shaking his head at you.

"Dude, you're wandering around the woods in the dead of night with a shovel.  No jury in their right MIND would pronounce you anything but certified, grade-a guilty.  Especially not with that bigass hole behind you."

You want to block his view of the hole, push him away.  How can he even see with those ugly triangular shades in the way?  Probably the same way you see through your cracked shades.  Practice.

"It's my moirail," you confess, because what have you got to lose?  "She thought she could take the Grand Highblood, and I hid like a coward while she fought and died."

You can just barely make out the way his dark lips curve down at the corners with sympathy or pity, you don't know.

"I came to bury my brother, and my moirail's mother.  They killed the Grand Highblood and most of the Subjuggulators before the Condesce intervened."

You heard about that!

A human movie maker, accompanied by a novelist broke into the Grand Highblood's estate, slaughtered the vast majority of the adult Subjuggulators, and might have slain them all, were it not for the Condesce.

It is because of those people that you were able to escape with Nepeta's body, instead of dying as well.

You collapse to your hands and knees in the dirt, your long hair thudding into the dirt as you bow your head to this human.  God, if someone had told you even a week ago that you would willingly prostrate yourself before a human, you would have culled them for being too foolish and lewd to exist.

He makes a startled noise over your head, and you explain everything to him, the chucklevoodoo-induced fear, Nepeta's brave fight against both the fear and the Highblood, your urge to be obedient, to be good, to redeem your ancestor's shame, your gratitude for the actions of his and his moirail's guardians, your plans to throw yourself in with Nepeta's corpse, because you can't live without her, all of it.

The words fall from your mouth like the rush of Nepeta's blood all over the Highblood's hive, staining that couldn't even begin to cover the mess already there, and you tell him about that, too, blue tears rushing down your face and clogging your throat and making it difficult for you to speak.

When you finish, you are breathing heavily, panting for breath, your fingers digging into the soft soil, and you feel empty, absolved.  He might say nothing, just walk away.  He might turn you in, anyway.  You have no way of knowing.

He puts a hand on your back, human-warm and burning hot through your sweat-soaked shirt.

"It's ok, man.  You can get up.  You have to finish burying your moirail.  And then, you're on suicide watch at my place.  My moirail's already setting up for some heavy-duty feelings jam, since she couldn't deal with the bodies, and she won't get in a twist if I bring you along.  C'mon."

He helps you to your feet, and the two of you fill in the dirt over Nepeta's grave.  With his help, you stamp it down, make the site as seamless as it was when you arrived.  He's already finished burying his and his moirail's guardians, and he shows you where their corpses lay.  You'd never have known if he hadn't shown you.

As he promised, when he brings you home to his moirail, she only needs to hear that you lost your moirail before she's inviting you into a pile comprised of knitting supplies and strange dolls with long noses and large rears.  She dubs you "eq-baby," and the three of you eat human junk food and watch the Complacency of the Learned movie, directed by Dave Strider.

You don't understand the movie, and it means much less to you than it does to them, but Roxy braids and unbraids your locs while Dirk drapes himself across both your laps, twining your fingers with his, and it is almost enough.

For this one night, it is enough.


End file.
